


i'll be the one (who'll break my heart)

by romans



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme prompt: Franklin is jealous of Will. (Or: Will's empathing goes haywire. Hannibal reaps the benefits.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be the one (who'll break my heart)

" _Doctor Lecter!_ " 

Will jerks up from his whisky when someone calls Hannibal's name. At first he thinks he's hearing things, but, no, Hannibal is standing awkwardly at the door of the bar. He looks completely out of place here, even dressed down in a sweater vest and rolled sleeves, but what makes him look awkward is the mortified expression on his face. Hannibal gives someone a small, restrained smile before his gaze drops to the floor. When he looks up it's in Will's direction. He looks exasperated, and it's sort of endearing. 

Will doesn't bother to bite back his amused smile as the doctor cuts through the blurry crowd to his side. Hannibal doesn't ask if he can sit beside Will, just slides gracefully onto the empty stool beside him. Boundaries and Hannibal don't mix, but Will is more or less used to it at this point. They're friends, right?

"You're popular here!" he says. Hannibal shoots him a harassed glare. "What brings you out here, anyways?" The bar is dark and loud and decidedly low-brow, and it reminds Will of his father, somehow. Maybe he should bring it up at their next session. 

Hannibal smiles. "I should ask you the same thing," he says, "You're the one who prefers his privacy. And yet, here you are, among the press." 

Will shrugs. "I'm not exactly making friends," he says. He has to lean in close to talk over the music, and he can catch a whiff of Hannibal's cologne. 

"You needed a dose of normality," Hannibal suggests. "Something to anchor you to your past, perhaps." 

It's very nearly spot on, and Will offers a sarcastic toast with his glass. 

There's a man two seats down who's making a huge production of ordering a dram of whiskey. He's a little on the round side, wearing tailored clothes that grasp at grace but don't quite reach it. He reeks of desperation, even from the end of the bar. The third time the loud man looks away from Hannibal, Will fumbles for his glasses, curious. The stranger comes into sharp focus: his eyes are bloodshot and he's sweating nervously. He's totally out of place. 

And he's utterly besotted with Hannibal, who must be deliberately ignoring him.

"You've got an admirer," Will says, leaning in a little closer than is strictly necessary. The man at the end of the bar curls his lips in anxiety. He's pretending not to look and doing a bad job of it. 

Hannibal's lip twitches, either in amusement or annoyance. "A patient," he says. 

Will frowns. "Shouldn't he see a new therapist? Isn't that a little... y'know..."

"Unethical?" Hannibal finishes. He's openly smiling now. "Yes, probably," he says. He takes a sip of his lager. Will flicks his eyes over Hannibal's shoulder and catches the admirer watching him. 

"He should see a new therapist," Will mutters, watching Hannibal's patient. Possessiveness washes over him suddenly, surprisingly. Jealousy isn't a word he's ever associated with Hannibal, and yet he finds himself grazing Hannibal's long fingers with his own, just barely touching. Hannibal doesn't appear to notice, or at least to mind. 

The stranger has struck up an overly animated conversation with a simpering barfly, but his gaze flicks irresistibly to their hands. Will smiles, all teeth. 

"Just go with it," he says to Hannibal, and then he links his fingers through his doctor's. 

" _Will,_ " Hannibal says, but he's smiling. They're friends. Hannibal is Will's friend. For some reason he can't fathom (doesn't want to fathom, honestly) Will is getting pleasure out of tormenting Hannibal's stalker. He's perfectly aware that he's crossing just as many lines or more ( _so_ many more) than the poor sack of a man at the bar, but Hannibal is squeezing his hand and it feels like victory. 

Hannibal shifts on his stool, leaning across the bar so that his stalker can see nothing but the lean, straight line of his back. Will is briefly disappointed. Hannibal tugs on his fingers. 

"Will?" he says. He looks mischievous, like a little boy out for trouble. Will reaches up to put Hannibal's hair back in place, feeling like a man possessed- it must be the case, or maybe the drink- and, with no particular sense of surprise, leans in to kiss his friend. His therapist. His partner. 

Hannibal is perfectly still while Will kisses him, and when Will drops back onto his seat, mortified and confused, his expression is... calculating? No, it must be thoughtful. 

"I'm sorry," Will says to his drink. He can't bring himself to look at his friend.

"Are you channelling Franklin?" Hannibal asks, and Will rolls his eyes. 

"No. I don't know. Look-" Will throws back the rest of his whiskey and grimaces. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Hannibal says. His hand curls around Will's jaw, cool and rough and startling, and he draws Will's face up for another kiss. This kiss is the real deal. There's _intent_. Will fists his hands in the fine fabric of Hannibal's sweater and hangs on. When they pull apart, there are two spots of color on Hannibal's face and his hair is more mussed than Will's ever seen it. His sweater is crumpled where Will grabbed it, and altogether he looks debauched. 

Will nudges his glasses back up his nose and finds Franklin staring at them, his face dark.

"He needs to find a new doctor," Will says. Hannibal smiles.

"Perhaps he will," Hannibal says. "Have you eaten?"


End file.
